


the night is coming to an end

by modernpatroclus



Series: (almost) happy ending [2]
Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Afterlife, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Canon, Reunited and It Feels So Good, broody!Achilles, happy ghosts, the answer is never, when will i get over them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:16:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6571252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernpatroclus/pseuds/modernpatroclus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They used to have a wealth of time together.<br/>Now, there is still a wealth of time. The only difference is that it is spent alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the night is coming to an end

**Author's Note:**

> [I've already written something like this before](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5988322), but I was listening to "The Sound" by The 1975, and... ~~also I'm procrastinating on a paper, and this was more fun~~.  
>  The title is from "Truce" by Twenty One Pilots.  
> I hope you enjoy!

 

They used to have a wealth of time together.

In Pthia, before the first kiss that had him sent away.

On Mount Pelion, the only one with them having no desire to stop them, before the announcement calling him to fight in a war that was none of his business.

In Scyros, before the relentless brigade came to beg his help in the war that was still none of his business.

On the shores of Troy, before the pride that gripped his thoughts in a vice, warping him into someone neither recognized.

Before the stupidly noble plan to save men who would not so much as remember him with a monument.

Before the spear that took the best of the whole wretched army, simply because the gods were tired of waiting.

Now, there is still a wealth of time. The only difference is that it is spent alone.

* * *

Achilles waits. And waits.

First, he waits bodiless on the shores of Troy, waiting impatiently for the men to burn his body.

Then, he waits for the monument to be built. When it is finished, only one name carved into the smooth surface, he thinks his waiting is done.

His soul had slipped away into the Underworld as soon as the “s” in his name had been engraved. So it was with great relief that Achilles welcomed the darkness of Hades, convinced that it would be only minutes until he would finally – _finally_ – see his Patroclus again.

Oh, how cruel hope is.

Instead of being reunited with the only one who could make eternity worth living (well, so to speak), Achilles is left alone, on the edge of the Styx, refusing to cross without Patroclus by his side. The messenger sighs, surely used to this petulance by now, but says nothing to convince him as he guides other new souls across.

Achilles rages, then weeps, then sits along the edge of the river, staring into the clear gray water. He does not recognize his reflection.

He looks the same as he had in his prime, the conditioned body of a warrior mid-war, but the glow of the young man who had roamed the mountains of Pelion, carefree and in love. But his expression is hollow as the days following Patroclus’ death.

The strange combination is unsettling. He has earned an eternity of Elysium, but he looks as if he is trapped in the Fields of Punishment.

Perhaps he is. It would explain the unending ache he feels. Has he gone mad? Was the offer of Elysium a mere hallucination, when in reality he has been tortured by Hades himself the whole time? Maybe so.

The thought brings a surge of comfort; if it is true, Patroclus may indeed have entered Elysium already. (He ignores the twinge of hurt at the thought of his beloved entering without him. It would be less of a punishment than he deserves, he thinks.)

* * *

Time passes. New souls arrive, none of them Patroclus. He pays them no mind.

They cross the river, watching Achilles recede from view, still planted firmly in the entrance. Some stare openly, not bothering to hide their curiosity at the spectacle his anguish makes of himself. Others are more subtle, glancing for a few seconds before looking away, only to look back again in a moment.

The worst are the looks of pity. They are what set off his fits of rage, pulling at his hair and screaming at anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in his storm.

When he is alone again, he collapses to the jagged, rocky ground, and cries.

Nothing eases the ache.

* * *

He is not sure how long he waits by the river. Time is endless here, but frozen all at once.

He does not age, of course. The only indication of one moment to the next is the arrival of new souls, newly dead and eager to cross the Styx.

Charon has not offered to take him across again, and for that Achilles is almost grateful. If he had anything left in him besides pain, he supposes he would thank him.

As it is, he has room for only grief and self-loathing. It is his fault that any of this happened. He let something so fleeting as fame destroy the only thing worth existing for. He will never, _never,_ forgive himself.

His self-hate is only strengthened by the knowledge that Patroclus, wherever he is – for Achilles _refuses_ to consider that his soul no longer exists; it _must,_ for that is the only thing keeping him from finding a way to destroy himself as well – does not blame him. Any other man would, but not Patroclus.

 _The best of the Myrmidons,_ he thinks. It is a fresh wound to his heart, only more intense, more raw, without a mortal body to protect it.

* * *

Eventually, he shuts down.

His fits of rage, his floods of tears, decrease in length, until one day, he simply cannot find the strength to express his pain (or it does not go away, because numbness would be a blessing he does not deserve).

But for the first time in his life, Achilles has no fight left in him.

He simply sits there, staring blankly at the river, unseeing. The pain has not stopped aching, though it has certainly been around long enough for him to be used to it.

But he will never be used to it.

So it is in this daze he exists, until the moment when time moves forward again.

The change is so subtle that he should not notice it in his catatonic state. But Achilles knows Patroclus better than any human has the right to know another (according to Hades, at least, watching unseen from his dwelling).

It begins as a warmth in his fingertips, spreading slowly up his arms and then through the rest of him. It is a feeling akin to laying in the sun, and he keens towards it without permission. His fingers brush an unseen apparition, and the warmth becomes a blaze.

Then, light.

It reflects in the water, as slowly as the warmth had, until, all at once, it is blinding. He reaches out blindly, not consciously deciding his actions, but _knowing_ they are right.

A hand grasps his own, and a sound like choking leaves his throat.

“Patroclus,” he gasps. He still cannot see, blind to the golden light pouring from _somewhere_ , but he would know that touch anywhere.

“Achilles,” responds the voice he’d gone far too long without hearing. His memory did not do it justice.

At Patroclus’ voice, the light pales, or his eyes adjust, because Achilles can _finally_ see again. He had not realized just how starved he was for light, for warmth, without Patroclus. He could not think of anything but his lover.

“Achilles,” Patroclus says again, stroking his face and wiping away his tears. Achilles lays his hand over Patroclus’ and threads their fingers together.

“You died,” he sobs. “It was supposed to be me.”

Patroclus won’t hear it. “Shh, I am here now. We do not have to be apart anymore.” He leads Achilles to the edge of the river, where Charon is already waiting. He does not have to offer again to Achilles. He goes without hesitation, Patroclus’ hand grasped tightly in his own, in a crushing death grip.

They do not speak again until they are alone in Elysium, content to simply look their fill at one another. There are too many things to say, and it is too emotional a conversation to have in front of an audience. Besides, simply being together again is enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> I'm working on a post-canon reincarnation AU that will continue after this. It'll be posted separately, but under the series I've put this under. So keep an eye out if you're interested! It's not done yet, because it's multi-chapter, and I want to get it all written first.  
> Comments make me happy!


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